


A Beautiful Weapon

by viceindustrious



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Advent Challenge 2010, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceindustrious/pseuds/viceindustrious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Toi," Coward purrs, as he climbs gracefully onto Dredger's lap. "T'es une belle arme."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day five of the adventchallenge . This was the_me09 's prompt, who wanted B/C/D (alphabetical porn!) and to somehow connect this a little bit more with the advent season I'm going to say the word of the day is: Charity. The practice of benevolent giving! Dredger definitely deserves it.

Cool echo of shadows. Soft edge of worn down marble. Steps, slow, eyes on him. Bloodlust. Triumph set on a string of enamel, Coward's smile. Standish blazing, burning, burst of glass.

Blackwood swirls the whisky round in its crystal tumbler and the images dissolve back into gold.

"To your victory," Coward says, knocking their glasses together.

The sound is muted, muffled by the way Coward's fingertips seek out his own, the bevelling of their glasses grinding together. Coward presses his body close. He's drunk already, flushed and half swooning, on the sight of Standish's death. There's a hot vibrato in the breath that skates across Blackwood's cheek as Coward's lips part, as he looks up at him with eyes as dark as wood tar, skin sweet with the musk of arousal.

"And loyalty," Coward says and turns his head toward the large spoonback armchair that Dredger is seated in.

The solid mahogany of the chair seems delicate beneath his bulk, the buttoned cream damask like something out of a doll's house. Dredger sits, calm but attentive, a sense of motion only barely stilled and ready to shift laboriously into action at Blackwood's first word.

"Isn't he _large_ ," Coward says, savouring the word like a choice piece of meat, a sigh that's followed by the wet, pink tip of his tongue across his teeth. He tilts his head back against Blackwood's breast and his mouth parts in a little begging moue.

Blackwood smiles, raises his glass to Dredger and drinks.

"Do you want to find out how large?" He bends his head to Coward's ear to murmur and Coward shivers against him.

A slight push against Coward's back has him stalking across the carpet to Dredger's chair, one bare foot laid down carefully in front of the other. Coward's cravat has been flung over one of the standing lamps, his waist coat is unbuttoned.   

"Toi," he purrs, as he climbs gracefully onto Dredger's lap. "T'es une belle arme."

He picks the decanter up from the floor and hands his near empty glass to Dredger. A bead of amber clings, shining, to the tip of the stopper as he pulls it free and Coward raises it above his head and licks it away with a serpentine flick of his tongue. His calves lay flat against Dredger's thighs, one hand on the back of the chair as he pours the whisky into the glass. His lips kissing crystal, running the cold, blunt edge of the stopper down his throat.

There are strands of hair, damp and dark, falling across Coward's forehead. He tosses his head back and his eyelids are at half-mast as he looks over his shoulder at Blackwood, his fingers kneading in Dredger's shirt like a cat. Blackwood walks toward the pair and they both watch him, Coward with smoking appetite and Dredger with his free hand placed ever so firmly on the arm of the chair, looking to his master for permission.

Blackwood inclines his head. Dredger downs the whisky. The glass falls to the carpet with a dull, forgotten thud and Dredger's huge hands wrap themselves around Coward's waist, pulling him up. The sound of Coward's gasp is like crushed velvet, his eyes snap open wide, discoloured with lust as ink clouding water.

"Le chaton a faim," Blackwood chuckles as Coward's fingers clutch at Dredger, as he squirms on Dredger's lap, rocking back and forth against the front of his trousers.

"Oui." Dredger's voice is a deep rumble and Coward puts his hands on Dredger's face, staring as though enamoured by the sight of how little of those rough cheeks they cover.

Coward's body appears slight and slender as he strips himself of layers of thick, winter clothing, the stiff padded silk of his waistcoat and dense cotton of his shirt. His pale skin, pink nipples, the fine, blue blood that's painting a blush across his collarbone, all these things appear so much the more delicate under Dredger's thick fingers.

Blackwood closes his hand around the nape of Coward's neck, helping him as he stands to rid himself of his trousers. He is so pliant in Blackwood's arms, falling back against him, malleable as soft clay and his desire stamped in the fast rise and fall of his chest. Dredger undoes his own trousers and Coward clutches at Blackwood's wrist, moaning at the sight.

Blackwood watches him blink and with the nervous, shocked flutter of his eyelashes one moan shatters into a handful of breathless gasps. Coward shakes his head back and forth and Blackwood can't resist catching his mouth and kissing him hard and deep until he's fighting for the air from Henry's own lungs. He tastes like the warm burn of whisky and feels like the wet, yielding hunger that's making him shake in Blackwood's grip, composure falling apart like damp paper.

"Un moment," Blackwood says, licking the shell of Coward's ear and it's easy to push Coward forward into Dredger's lap. One moment of resistance, a hesitation where he plasters himself back, chest heaving and mouth trembling and then it snaps. He clambers back onto the chair, back arched and toes curling, his hand circling at once around the massive girth of Dredger's cock.

When Blackwood returns with oil, a large, pink blotch is blooming on Coward's arse, like a star and Blackwood sees why as Dredger slaps him again and Coward yelps, then laughs, moans, buries his nose in Dredger's neck.

There's sweat shimmering down Coward's spine, the marks of Dredger's hands fading in shades of rose but as Coward shudders and scours his brow against the rougher bristle of Dredger's beard, Blackwood notes the boundaries that are not transgressed. Coward groans and draws his lips up to the corner of Dredger's mouth, but does not kiss him. The single bruise on Coward's neck was left by Blackwood's teeth two days ago and Dredger has not left one mark beside it.

"J'ai envie . . . " Coward pants, Dredger's cock lying full and thick against his thigh.

"À monter, sur le cheval, mon petit?" Dredger grins wide.

Blackwood sweeps a hand down Coward's back, over each bump of his vertebrae, the bones quivering under his touch, the muscles in the backs of Coward's thighs bunched and shaking. Coward's hands dig in tight to the solid breadth of Dredger's shoulders, bracing himself as Blackwood pushes two slick fingers inside him.

He leans over the two of them as he stretches Coward wide, laying a gentle kiss against the side of Coward's neck, scraping his teeth against the mark there while his fingers fuck deep and curl against the tender, secret places inside Coward's body.

The rest of the oil is poured generously over Dredger's cock and Coward sets himself against it, whines and tosses his head back and forth as though he doesn't believe it will fit but Dredger's hands around his waist push him down slowly, inch by inch, until he's taken it all, flush against the body beneath him.

"Oh, _oh_." Coward grabs Blackwood's collar and pulls him into a kiss, hiding his moans in his mouth.

Blackwood combs his hand into Coward's hair, fingers tangling in the curls that are densest near the scalp and tugs. Coward cries out, his eyes rolling back in his head and rises up, then impales himself again, Dredger's hips slamming up to meet him. It's rutting, _fucking_ , Coward's rhythm overwhelmed by the power of Dredger's thrusts, by Blackwood pulling his hands behind his back and pinning them there. He presses those slight wrists together, thumbnail digging into Coward's pulse and watches as Dredger buries himself to the hilt once more in Coward's twitching, helpless body.

"Il est une belle arme," Blackwood whispers. "T'es une belle _âme_."

And presses a finger in alongside Dredger's cock. Coward wails and his hands curl vainly in Blackwood's grip as he comes. Gorgeous and gasping and Blackwood knows it will be a long time before either of them are done with him tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation for the curious.
> 
> Toi. T'es une belle arme. = You. You are a beautiful weapon.
> 
> Le chaton a faim. = The kitten is hungry.
> 
> J'ai envie . . . = I want . . .
> 
> À monter, sur le cheval, mon petit? = to ride the horse, little one? (:P)
> 
> Il est une belle arme. T'es une belle âme. = He is a beautiful weapon. You're a beautiful soul.


End file.
